Day 15

Groundhog's Day . . . Magneto, The Cat and Madame Chabou's Lover (Part Deux)

"Then put your little hand in mine, there ain't no hill or mountain we can't climb . . ."  I swear I have lived this day before.  Oh, that's right . . . yesterday.  More of the same today with one notable exception.  No wait, two notable exceptions.  The first?  Drove North bright and early this morning to take final possession of my sub compact dream machine.  About time.  She rides like she is floating on a cloud and corners like she is on rails.  Ok, not exactly, but she is still pretty sweet nonetheless.  The best part by far is how easy she is to park.  Simply pull up to the parking spot, get out of the car, pick it up, then set it in the desired location.  No parking spots available?  Not a problem.  Just stuff it in your back pocket and take it inside with you.  I think I have a future in marketing.

The second exception?  Well, the second came in the form of a God send named Pat.  We were due back at the rental house this morning to take instruction on pool maintenance and put a final nail in this housing coffin.  This time we came prepared.  The landlady had her own counsel the evening prior, so today we came packing a little of our own.  The deck was now evenly stacked.  Ok, not evenly stacked.  Advantage . . . Foreigners.

The evening prior we were not at all prepared for what we would find, nor were we familiar with the acceptable concessions that could or should be made.  You see, renting a home here is quite different than renting in the States and my wife and I are not the kind of folks that assume the whole world should revolve around our expectations.  We have discovered many wonderful differences between our cultures and were not and are not about to start whining because we got our little American feelings hurt.  Just the opposite is true.  Given the hospitality we have been shown, we were not willing to walk into this woman's home and demand that she bend to our every whim based upon some preconceived notion we have about the way things are supposed to be.  We did however, need some guidance.  This guidance was supposed to be provided by our relocation agent, however, it became clear to us over the course of our dealings that this was not to be the case.  It was clearly time to take matters into our own hands and set things straight.

Our new best friend in an American gal we befriended the night of the pit bull attack.  After recovering from last night's drama, The wife and I put our heads together and sent out an SOS to anyone who might have more experience with this sort of transaction than we did.  The general consensus was that the condition of the home was not the cultural standard and that our original relocation agent had done us wrong.  The call was answered, however, in no uncertain terms by our friend Pat.  She and her husband have lived in France for some time now and their business is the renovation of old buildings.  Not only did they agree that the situation was not acceptable, they offered to show up today to help make things right.

Pat is a spitfire of a gal with short blonde hair, steely blue eyes and lightning in her veins.  We had clearly not been able to clear the lines of communication given our very basic command of the language, so our new translator would help us along today.  We arrived at our appointment a minute or two after the hour and there was a bicycle parked out front we had not seen the night prior.  Pat had already arrived.  The truth of the matter is, Pat had already made herself quite at home and assessed the situation on our behalf.  After a quick tutorial on pool maintenance, the check in inspection would begin anew.  The concessions made the night prior would stand and additional concessions would certainly be made.  After a few hours of ugly debate and generally unpleasant conversation we were back in business.

Our original relocation agent had abandoned this project long ago and she had sent a replacement in her stead.  She is a wonderful person in her own right and has treated us very fairly since her involvement, but the damage had already been done.  She was not really in a position to put herself in the middle of a "he said she said" between her coworker and ourselves, so she had clearly been walking very fine line the night prior.  that being said, she too showed up this morning to make sure everything was settled and that both parties were in agreement at the end of the day.  This new team of folks made all the difference in the world and we are pleased to know that we will be able to move into our new home when my wife returns from her trip in Thailand at the end of next week.  It is just as well, since our personal belongings are still floating around the Atlantic Ocean somewhere.  At last check they are due to make landfall somewhere around the 11th.

Now, all this wheeling and dealing did come at a fair price.  As I mentioned last night, one of the concessions was that part of the interior of the home would be repainted at the cost of the landlord, which is not the apparent standard here.  She agreed to purchase the paint and materials and has enlisted a wonderful man to handle the application process . . .YOURS TRULY.  In addition, the wife and I decided so as to not cause undue emotional disress, we would remove the pink flower wallpaper from our eldest son's room and give it a fresh coat of paint as well.  My anal retentive nature will likely call for a repaint of most of the interior of the home, so we can start with a fresh slate.  The landlord agreed that this would be acceptable, so it look like I am back in the home improvement business.  Thought I had left all of that behind in Kansas.  Apparently not!  We did inherit some very nice antique furniture, utilitarian bookcases which we will make good use of, several bottles of wine and of course the cat.  The landlady was unable to find a suitable home for the cat and my wife would not here of it being rudely evicted without anywhere to go.  Here we go again.

With our dysfunctional version of House Hunters International out of the way, I could turn my attention back to what is truly important in life . . . our newly acquired automobiles.  Upon returning to the hotel and obtaining new key cards to our room, having demagnitized another set with my manhood , it was time to check out what we had purchased.  My car . . . basic, economical and dare I say damn good looking for its age.  My wife's car . . . complicated, a technological marvel, and inevitably high maintenance.  I would say that the cars are much like their owners, but that might get the shit slapped out of me.  The truth of the matter is, that no matter how much I say I like my ride, I am still pretty envious of the Renault.  It has so many space aged features, it would make George Jetson proud.

This thing has automatic everything.  No key, just a card . . . and somehow, the car knows where that card is located at all times.  If the key finds itself anywhere inside the vehicle, it will allow you to engage the push button ignition.  The moment you step outside, the doors lock and the mirrors fold inward.  While standing outside the car with said key tucked securely in your pocket, you need only to run your hand by a motion sensor and the car unlocks to allow you passage inside.  Windshield wipers . . . rain sensative.  They come on with the first few drops and adjust themselves based upon the volume of rain hitting the windshield at any given moment.  Sat nav, cell phone and every other electronic gizmo you could think of, all find themselves tucked neatly into this funky looking package.  No doubt I have her on looks, but my hoopty looks like wooden teeth next the her modern age porcelain veneers.

Fear not, for I will not be blinded by the the luminesent glow of the Renault's guages nor will I be charmed by siren song eminating from her premium sound system.  I will stay true to my little Peugeot and I shall give her a name.  I think I shall call her Ristine.  Sleep well Ristine, sleep well.